


Saviour

by Synchron



Series: Verses of Fortune [1]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:02:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22235293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synchron/pseuds/Synchron
Summary: You are his, and he is yours.
Relationships: Credo (Devil May Cry)/Reader
Series: Verses of Fortune [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1629340
Comments: 12
Kudos: 43





	Saviour

**Author's Note:**

> Hello my name is Sync and I am a ho for both of Nero's fathers... *nervous sweating...* 😶💦💦
> 
> This is just a smol little one shot to tide me over until I allow myself to start thinking about the Credo series I want to do in earnest sfjdklh. It'll be somewhat of a mirror to the Medley For Two series I have for Vergil, but centered around your shenanigans as Credo's assistant. 😌 I'm not sure how many folk around here are into Credo, I know he had a rather shallow part in DMC4, but he's always been a character I really enjoyed...! 💖 I'm just a huge sucker for a man in uniform who eventually comes around to see the light...
> 
> Anyways, please enjoy?!

Ever an organised man in his own right, cordial and punctual, always several paces ahead of even men like Agnus, Credo was hardly in need of an assistant. And yet he'd insisted on it, stepping in when you were caught snooping around Fortuna Castle for goodies to pillage and sell back on the mainland. You'd stood your ground in an almost offended defiance, even as the Bianco Angelos that apprehended you held you by one arm each. Their grip was cold. Firm. And there was something robotic in the way they silently obeyed Credo's request to release you.  
  
He was expecting you to immediately run... as futile an effort as that would have been in the end - the Biancos would have relentlessly followed, and you would then have learned the hard way that they have been taught to show no mercy to any prey that dares show their backs to them. But you'd kept still, a curious but quiet fire blazing in the depths of your eyes. It was a look that Credo had seen before, one that hid loss and isolation. Misguided and lonesome. He has never been to the mainland before, but it doesn't surprise him that even there, in a land that feels so foreign that it may as well exist in a completely different world, people can be cruel.  
  
And so it was that Credo took in another stray.  
  
Whispers and rumours began spreading like wildfire - the Supreme General of the Order had taken another wild dog under his single wing. A hopeless, filthy mutt who knows and cares nothing for the traditions of the city. Of their precious, esteemed Saviour. _She will turn on him_ , they gossiped, _she will take our good fortune and deed and turn them to riches for her own gain. You will see.  
  
_ _She will leave.  
  
_ _She should!  
  
_ _She has no place among us.  
  
_ But a year and a half later, you still preside in Fortuna. You care little for their faith, their religion, or their Saviour, just as they said you would, but that's because your loyalties lie elsewhere, and in something tangible and more grounded in reality. Something that exists so close by. Always close by.  
  
Credo sits at his desk, a grand and opulent structure, even for such a mundane piece of furniture. It's littered with manila folders - documents that need signing, blueprints that need approving, staff requests that need revising. This time of year is always like this. Demons are aplenty, squeezing through more tears in the human realm and providing more fodder for Agnus and his research. And in turn, Agnus works around the clock, making his breakthroughs, extracting his demonic powers… you dare not think of what else he does down in that prison of his. He sneers openly at you in contempt whenever you speak of his laboratory in that way, but you hold your chin up high and stand your ground then too. Unbeknownst to you, there is always a glimmer of pride in Credo's eyes whenever you challenge Agnus in such a fashion. Though your outward appearance has changed to reflect the Order that you were (officially, to the chagrin of many) inducted into, though your speech eventually mellowed to take on a more respectable vocabulary, your demeanour, your fire, never once blew out. It still burns as brightly as the day he met you.  
  
And yet in contrast to that, he'd found you skulking about in the darkness as if it were your ally. Perhaps it was by virtue of your previous life, but you've always been most comfortable in lowlight. That much about you will also never change. To that end, Credo's office is dimly lit, with only ever enough candlelight after dusk to efficiently read by. It's how he's come to like it too now, honestly. A gentle, soothing glow as opposed to harsh fluorescence - his overworked mind appreciates the dim, as if it somehow slows the tick of the clock on the wall, giving him the illusion of more time.  
  
His pen scratches amidst the still air, punctuated by the occasional soft thump of his literal seal of approval. Why was it ever even brought into question whether staff were allowed mandated breaks? Does nobody on this island know what mandated even means? Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous. Lowering his pen, Credo uses his free hand to rub at his temples. It seems like only minutes ago that the sun was sitting at the very peak of its throne in the sky above, but it's sunken well below the horizon by now, plunging the Order's HQ into eerie darkness. Kyrie and Nero are likely still waiting for him to have dinner, and he laments his prior decision to not call them ahead of time. Surely they know they don't have to wait up for him...  
  
A quiet clink of chinaware has him lowering his hand again to find a steaming cup of tea on a decorative saucer, sitting atop the document he was in the middle of signing. Even from where he sits, the aroma wafts towards him - floral and somehow soothing… it isn't a blend he's familiar with, but the lavender in it is unmistakable. His eyes trail up the arm of the one who placed it there to find you standing on the other side of his desk with a wan smile on your face. He hadn't even heard you pour the damn thing much less make your way over to him. That's proof enough that he's spent far too long cooped up in his office.  
  
"I know you don't like to put off your work, Captain, so I've taken the liberty of letting Kyrie and Nero know that you won't be back for dinner. I have also gone ahead and rescheduled tomorrow morning's equipment inspection in the event that work…" your eyes flicker to the stacks of folders on his desk, "runs long tonight."  
  
"Credo." He says simply, placing his pen down.  
  
You make a confused sound, head tilting slightly. "I… beg your pardon, Sir?"  
  
His steely eyes peer across the room to his office door, currently closed, even though only a barebones number of staff are present at this time of day. "Beyond those doors, where the Order's hierarchy exists, I am your Captain. But here, we're equals. Here, I am Credo." He gives you a sidelong glance as he reaches for that cup of tea, so small and dainty in his large hands. His finger barely fits through the handle, but with a squeak of leather, he somehow manages with as much grace as he normally excudes, lifting it to his face to closer sample the smell. "Is this a new blend? I don't recognise it."  
  
You purse your lips, fully aware that by posing a new question, he'd deliberately left you no room to object to his prior statement. He knows you far too well. "It is, _Captain_." You pretend you don't see the look he shoots you. "After the increased stress from last year, I felt it prudent to at least prepare a calming blend - hawthorn and lavender."  
  
"Is it calming?" His tone is quieter, lighter, somehow more smooth around the edges. It isn't a tone he takes often. "Or are you intending on putting me to sleep?"  
  
You simply smile. "In the event you do nod off, I've also cleared your schedule until midday tomorrow." Then your smile begins to wane, becoming less content, and more forced. "You've not been sleeping recently, Captain."  
  
Credo takes a tentative sip of his tea, humming quietly in surprise at the abundance of flavour such a simple blend has, and then he places the cup back down onto its saucer. Yet he doesn't answer you.  
  
"Captain--"  
  
He calls your name once, but not harshly. Not in any manner that would indicate he's annoyed. "I needn't remind you that this is the busiest time of the year for us. Demons are a daily occurrence, patrols need to be arranged, Agnus' is in constant need of new… subjects for his experiments, and amidst all of this, the construction of the Savior memorial _must_ continue."  
  
"But at the expense of your well-being?" You step around his desk to stand at his side, and though it's only vague, he does swivel his chair a little to meet you halfway. "You've consistently returned home late all week, you work from dawn to dusk. You'll forgive me if I feel that you're overdue for rest."  
  
"I'm alright." He insists.  
  
But you're not having any of it. You step closer to him, breaching the shell of his personal space to stand right beside his chair. "You cannot possibly be--"  
  
He raises a hand to silence you, and it's only because you respect him as much as you do that you obey. " _I'm alright_." He insists again. "Because I have a diligent and invaluable assistant who thinks several paces ahead of even her own Captain."  
  
You go completely still, words unable to form, but this time out of shock as opposed to anything else. Even the scrape of his chair as he turns towards you to loop his arms around your waist go unnoticed until he's pulling you closer, until his forehead is resting against your midsection. That's when you feel warmth in your cheeks, and even… even somewhere in the center of your chest. Your body, that had immediately tensed the moment Credo touched you, relaxes, and your hands fall to shoulders, bridling with an unseen tension and countless knots. You feel him exhale slowly, feel him breathe out some of his stress. This vulnerability isn't something he dares even hint at beyond his office, not only for what it insinuates between the two of you, but also because as a key member of the Order, he has a duty to uphold, and a reputation to maintain. And so like many things - the fact he feeds sparrows from his office window, his love of a good puzzle, his unwavering love for his small and broken family - this is something that only you are privy to.  
  
With a gentle smile, you smooth out his hair with a gloved hand and let him hold you. This too, is part of the job you've imposed unto yourself.  
  
"I'm grateful for all that you do for me." Although pressed into your abdomen, his voice does not come muffled or unclear. Nothing about him can ever be described as such. "In this Order, we worship our Saviour - a being of unparalleled strength and justice."  
  
It's almost imperceptible, but his grip on you tightens.  
  
"But you are mine."  
  
Closing your eyes, you think back on your life on the streets, where you lived by the day, and only for yourself. You think now, of the roof over your head, and the morals that have been imparted on you, marvelling at the wonders of how such a small act of kindness and mercy managed to snowball into where you are tonight. And you smile.  
  
"As you are mine, Sir."


End file.
